


We'll Laugh About This Someday

by cybox



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: First Kiss, Identity Porn, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18965752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybox/pseuds/cybox
Summary: Bruce Wayne figures out Superman’s secret identity, but his plan to mess with him backfires when the mild-mannered journalist responds all too seriously.





	We'll Laugh About This Someday

Bruce Wayne stared, his eyes slightly narrowed as he studied the journalist from Metropolis at his annual Wayne charity gala.

The man wore round glasses and a blue suit one size too large for his body with a red tie. The press badge hanging around his neck indicated he was from the Daily Planet, no doubt chasing after Lex Luthor at the moment to ask about his upcoming plans for a deal with Wayne Enterprise. Despite being a large man, he had an unassuming air about him, easily going unnoticed in a room made up of Gotham’s elite.

There was no doubt about it, Bruce concluded – this man was Superman. His disguise was so simple that he didn’t know if it was dumb or brilliant. After all, no one would think the world’s greatest superhero to masquerade as a journalist in plain sight.

Bruce grinned, feeling quite pleased with himself. Despite being steadfast friends in the Justice League, the two never discussed their personal lives to each other, with Superman giving his word that he would never use his x-ray vision to look behind the cowl. ‘This should be fun,’ he thought to himself as he sauntered towards the man he was confident was Superman. ‘We’ll laugh about this someday.’

Bruce sneaked up behind Clark, tapping him on the shoulder. “No questions for me?” Bruce quipped.

“M-Mr. Wayne!” Clark exclaimed, almost dropping his notepad, genuinely surprised to see the host of the party greeting him. Concerned with whatever nefarious plot Lex might be up to, he hadn’t noticed the man appear seemingly out of thin air.

“Please, call me Bruce,” he said, extending his hand. Clark hastily stuffed his notepad and pen in an inside pocket of his suit jacket to shake his hand.

“R-Right. Clark Kent, from the Daily Planet.”

Bruce held onto Clark’s hand for longer than what was necessary, reveling in Clark’s obvious discomfort as his other hand reached for the man's arm. He gave it a light squeeze, feeling the solid muscle underneath the layers of clothing, confirming what he suspected.

“Clark Kent,” he repeated, then flashed a brilliant smile. “A pleasure.”

Clark stared, feeling dazzled by the man’s natural charisma, then snapped out of his reverie. “Mr. Wayne, could I ask some questions about the recent proposition Lex Luthor made regarding a cooperative venture between Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp?”

Bruce brushed his question off with a wave of his hand. “Please, not here. This is a party after all, and it’s my policy to never mix pleasure with business. Although...” He let his voice trail off as he playfully reached for Clark’s red tie.

“I suppose for you…I could do an exclusive interview?” He lowered his voice. “I have a room upstairs,” he said, his voice dripping with lascivious promise. He rested the palm of his hand on Clark's broad chest, feeling the heat emanate from his core.

Clark grabbed his hand, and Bruce grinned. But instead of pushing him away, Clark intertwined his fingers with his and leaned forward, whispering so lowly that only he could hear.

“Then lead the way, Bruce.”

Bruce drew back, but quickly masked his alarm with another one of his charming smiles. Clark regarded him with serious eyes, tightening his grip on his hand, and Bruce found he had no choice but to leave the party with the world’s greatest superhero in tow.

 

Bruce never felt more uncomfortable in his life as he rode the elevator with the man of steel.

He was not expecting Clark to accept his advances. His aim had been to fluster the superhero, watch him blush, stammer, and trip over his feet as he scrambled away, and get a good story out of it.

Then a thought struck him – what if Clark liked men, and he, Bruce Wayne, was his type? The thought was a bit shocking. Superman was a symbol of hope – the thought of him having base human desires was a bit disturbing. Surprising and a little disappointing that Superman was into vapid pretty boys, Bruce mused.

Turning back to the more pressing matter at hand, Bruce figured that once they’d gotten to the room, he’d make an excuse fitting his whimsical nature and make his exit to a bemused Clark Kent. He was a master escapologist after all, and he’d gotten out of messier situations before. It would be okay.

They had barely entered the room when Clark turned on him, pinning him against the door and kissed him hard. Bruce’s head reeled as he instinctively pushed to escape from his tight embrace. But Clark would not budge, and Bruce was sure he was using his super-strength. He wasn’t sure what alarmed him more, the possessiveness of the kiss, or the way he found himself responding with equal vigor. He gasped for air when Clark finally released his lips. Clark leaned into him.

“I want you. I’ve always wanted you,” he whispered into his ear, and Bruce squirmed at the feel of Clark’s cool breath on his ear and the distinct feel of his arousal against his own. “I want you badly. Can I?”

Feeling impertinent, he replied, “I don’t know. Can you?”

He took that as consent and led Bruce to the bed, the urgency behind the kiss quieted now that Clark was sure that at least for that night, he was his.

Clark undressed Bruce methodically, first shedding him of his suit jacket and waistcoat, undoing the black bow tie, then unbuttoning his white dress shirt. He folded and laid each article of clothing carefully next to him.

For a guy faster than a speeding bullet, he sure could move slowly, Bruce thought crossly and he tugged on Clark’s own clothing, half in impatience and half in anticipation. Clark gave a low chuckle as he moved to loosen his tie and remove his shirt, never once looking away from Bruce. His eyes shone with a love and adoration that Bruce belatedly realized wasn’t directed at him, not really, just a hollow version of himself.

Bruce reached to remove his glasses, but Clark backed away.

“I want to be able to see you,” he said simply, and Bruce left it at that.

***

Last night had been a mistake. A glorious mistake, Batman thought absentmindedly as he sat dark and brooding during the Justice League meeting, but a mistake nonetheless.

But the memory of Superman’s naked body radiating with raw power and strength, the way he had worshiped his scar-ridden body and showered him with love, attentive to his every need, almost made it worth it. 

Batman also knew that there was no way Superman could ever learn the truth about him now. To have Superman learn that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same - that the object of his desire was none other than the cynical, biting bat - would just ruin their friendship. 

Batman saw that he had gotten a message from an unknown number and discreetly checked his phone underneath the table.

‘How are you feeling? Is your body okay?’

Batman almost choked - how and when Clark got a hold of his private cell number eluded him. He looked up to glare at Superman, who sat as a paragon of excellence at the table.

A few seconds later, he received another message:

‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’

J’onn closed the meeting, and the Justice League members stood to leave.

“Finally,” Flash said, stretching his limbs. “I was getting hungry.”

“When are you not hungry?” Green Lantern retorted.

“Good point,” Flash acknowledged as they exited the room.

“Superman, a word,” Batman said before Superman could leave. Superman gave him a curious look, but remained where he stood without question.

Batman waited until the room was empty before speaking. “You weren’t concentrating on the meeting at all. Something on your mind? And don’t bother lying. You’re terrible at it.”

Superman regarded his friend seriously, as if trying to gauge his trustworthiness. Finally he spoke: “I’m in love,” he confessed, and Bruce’s heart sank.

“I see,” he managed to say. “So? Who is it?”

Superman hesitated before admitting, “Bruce Wayne.” He glanced at Batman, who appeared expressionless. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Trust me, I am. What do you see in that man?” he asked, hoping he sounded casual. “He’s Gotham trash.”

“He most definitely is not,” Superman defended him to Batman’s dismay. “He just wears an armor of superficiality to hide the hurt inside.”

Batman winced internally. He hoped he wasn't so obvious to the rest of the world. Superman continued, “Besides, he does so much good. The work he does with the Wayne Foundation alone is remarkable and the millions of dollars he donates to charity.”

“He’s a playboy who sleeps around with men and women indiscriminately. He’s going to hurt you.”

“That’s just tabloid gossip,” Superman said, although a hint of uncertainty leaked in his voice. He crossed his arms defensively. “Besides, what do you care? This is my business,” Superman said, sounding annoyed.

“It becomes my business if your distraction ends up threatening the team. Don’t think I didn’t catch you texting during the meeting.”

Superman’s eyes narrowed. “Funny you should care so much about the welfare of the team when you’re not even an official member of the Justice League.”

He had a point, but Batman refused to concede. “This conversation is over,” he declared instead and briskly left with a whish of his cape.

***

Back in the Batcave, Bruce channeled all of his fury and focused it on the punching bag in front of him, imagining it was Superman he was punching some sense into.

He landed a flying kick and the bag flung across the room, falling dangerously close to Alfred holding a tray of tea and cookies.

“Bad day?“ Alfred asked with a raised eyebrow as he eyed the battered punching bag on the floor in front of him.

Bruce sat on the bench, wiping his face with a towel. “I don’t get it, Alfred. How could Superman fall for that egotistical, superficial man?”

“You do realize you are referring to yourself, sir.”

“But I’m not. I’m Batman,” he said emphatically. “Bruce Wayne is just a character I play.”

“Perhaps Superman is able to see past the façade that is Bruce Wayne, and has decided that whatever lies beneath is worth his love,” Alfred responded sagely.

“But then - " Bruce started and promptly stopped, swallowing the words:  _But then why can’t he do that with me as Batman?_

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. It was another one of Clark’s texts:

'I want to see you again.'

Bruce gripped his phone with grim determination. He knew what he had to do. 

***

“Sorry I’m late!” Clark apologized profusely as he took his seat across Bruce in the diner. “I was stuck in traffic.”

Which was a lie. Metallo had been wreaking havoc on the other side of Metropolis, which Superman promptly dealt with. Bruce watched it live on the television set hanging in the corner of the restaurant.

“It's so good to see you again. I was worried when you didn’t respond.” Clark smiled warmly. “I missed you,” he said, gathering Bruce’s hands on the table into his own. Bruce quickly drew his hands away.

“This needs to stop,” he blurted out, and Clark froze.

Bruce sighed, then put on an insincere smile. “Listen, Kent. You look like a nice guy, and what we had was fun. But this isn’t going to work out.”

“But why?” Clark asked, visibly stunned. Then in a lowered voice, “Was I not any good?”

“No, you were good,” Bruce said quickly, then mentally kicked himself for his desire to assuage the man’s insecurities. “But I don’t do relationships. It’s just not my style. So stop with the texts. There won’t be a second time.”

He braced himself for the begging, the puppy-faced entreaties, and the eventual soul-crushing look of defeat. Instead, Clark smiled, leaning back more casually in his seat.

“No.”

Bruce started. He didn’t think Superman would act so assertive as Clark Kent. He tried again. “I don’t think you get it. You were just a one-night stand. I was bored and saw an out-of-place country bumpkin at my party, and decided to have some fun with him. That was it. Now that I’ve had my taste, I’m done. You mean nothing to me,” he said.

“That’s not how you really feel.”

How could he be so sure of himself? Was super-confidence another one of his superpowers? He threw up his hands in exasperation.

“What do you even like about me?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Bruce abruptly stood to leave.

“I love how you care deeply about the people around you, even if you pretend otherwise. You push people away because you’re afraid they’re going to get hurt because of you, but you don’t have to worry about me. You know you don’t. You’re intelligent, a master tactician, but above all, a loyal friend. And I love how stubborn you are. You’re even more stubborn than I am.” Bruce blinked. The descriptions didn’t match his persona at all. Then everything clicked into place.

“You peeked,” he accused him, remaining where he stood. Clark grinned in response.

“Of course I did. The hero always peeks,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I had my suspicions that you figured me out when you approached me at the gala, so I played along.” He grinned again, looking impossibly adorable with his impish smile. “I figured we'd laugh about it someday.”

Bruce slowly sank back into his seat, his mind replaying and analyzing all of Clark’s actions and words since the night of the gala. By the time he had caught up to the present reality, he looked up to find an impossibly smug expression on Clark’s face.

“So you thought I was good?” Clark teased.

“You performed adequately,” Bruce decided, and Clark grinned cheekily, knowing that coming from Batman, it was high praise indeed.


End file.
